


Betrayal is Blue

by Big_Geek



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura and Lance are Siblings, Altean Lance (Voltron), Angst, Gen, Langst, Major Character Injury, Possible Keith/Lance, Twins really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 11:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14135373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Big_Geek/pseuds/Big_Geek
Summary: Prince Alistair of Altea and Lance McClain are the same person.One is a failure, the other is a useless cog to the wheel of Voltron. Hiding and fighting the same dictator for ten thousand lonely years.But, it only takes one persons courage to change the tides of war.





	Betrayal is Blue

**Author's Note:**

> This was an altean Lance fic I made ages ago, but I thought it deserves a chance. If you guys thoroughly enjoyed, I'll have no problem making more.
> 
> But I do know that the summary is shit and the whole writing is shit. But I have no problem rewriting it and making it bigger.

“Your majesty-”

“Take. The. Pistol” It was more of a demand than a request, he usually wasn’t good with the whole commanding thing, that was more his father’s or Allura’s specialty. But, his world was possibly ending, he doesn’t have the time to dwell on the harshness of his voice, no matter how out of character it was.

The young woman stared at him. Shocked as their usually carefree prince to be so demanding. He was more of a party animal and knew how to have fun. She nodded before straightening up and tried her best to be as confident as possible. It worked but the tears minuses confident points, though, the bloody face made her more the menacing. 

“Thank you, your highness” she nodded before darted through the fiery debris of his fallen kingdom, his royal blue pistol clenched tight in her hands. his blue eyes watched her in the distance until her form had disappeared from the broken plains of his kingdom.

He coughed out the dust that had entered his system and bolted from the opposite direction of the civilian. So far he has rescued five children, eight adults and two elderly. He could always leave them to die by the destruction but that would be breaching his job description. As a Blue Paladin he was required to help every species of people, helpless or not. 

Blue brushed against his conscious. Her purring ringing in his head, it felt like the world of the world was partially lifted off his shoulders. He would always remember the day he got Blue, though, it wasn’t a time of celebrating or training. More of a time of mourning. 

Uncle Blaytz died during a mission of great importance. He died on the battlefield, with honour, but alone. He was shot multiple times in the chest, he didn’t stand a chance. It would always be his father’s greatest regret. 

Then Blue chose him as her next paladin weeks later. She told him that something was stirring and there wasn’t much time to mourn for her beloved original paladin. Despite his father’s and Allura’s wishes, he accepted. Without some strong, strict rules to go with the job on his fathers part. 

Some of him though he was a replacement, a replacement for his uncle. It brought down his good mood, and it was something his sister had noticed. His father would have noticed it too, but he mind was too cramped with political arrangements and suffocating grief. 

Every night, Allura would sneak into his room and share his bed, reassuring that he wasn’t a replacement, he was his own person. A person uncle Blaytz would be proud of. It made him cry and laugh at the same time. 

But, where was he now? Within the destruction of his kingdom by his very own leader. His sister was stuck in a healing pod with his royal adviser Coran and was set on auto pilot to an unknown planet. Fellow paladins are dead by the hands of Zarkon and their lions forced to be hidden away from the pleading of his father. And his father and himself still on Altea either rescuing survivors or fighting Zarkon. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out which job he was in charge of.

His father had pleaded him to leave and hide Blue, he refused. He rather die than let Zarkon get his filthy paws on his father.

With a final push, he conquered the collapsed skyscraper. The one he and Allura would rest on while the castle’s occupants was go stir crazy trying to figure out if their royal charges have been either; killed, kidnapped or hiding. So many memories lost from just the sight of the fallen building. He rather not think about the unfortunate souls that may have died in its collapse, the souls that he would probably be treading on now, it was one of the first to fall. 

The view was more horrible than he thought. Fires like beacons spreading across the ruins of his home. Dust floating in the air like mushroom clouds and clear purple lights that he never had such hatred too.

“Zarkon!” His head snapped up. It was his fathers voice. It was strained and tired, but it echoed through out the broken land. With renewed energy, he sprinted to the direction of his fathers voice. Weaving in-between collapsed buildings, pillars and fires, he found them. 

Just on the other side of the street (or what was a street) had his father and Zarkon duelling in the midsts of flames of his kingdom and sparks of metal on metal. They were evenly matched, and Zarkon was in perfect view.

Activating his Bayard, he crouched onto the dusty flooring of the caved-in building. He was hidden and he had the perfect window. His blue Bayard rested familiarly in his hand, the trigger floating underneath his finger, his breath shallowing. The violent dance continued on, none the wiser that Zarkon was about to have a hole in his wrinkled face.

Blue eyes looked into the scope, his Bayard trying to find a lock on Zarkon’s figure. It was then that his father and man he once looked up to started talking. 

“Why!? Why Zarkon!?” His father yelled, the royal sword still in held tightly in Alfor’s grip and ready to impale the bastard. Zarkon looking more or less the same.  
Come on. Come on. Lock, dammit! This was his chance.

“Power” was Zarkon’s simple reply before take a swipe at his father. He blocked it.

“Why, power?” Alfor asked, desperate inhales of polluted air puncturing his speech. Even from here he could tell his father was tiring, and fast. “why would you possibly need that you would require Voltron.”

“There is so much a person could do with a lion of Voltron, but the whole of Voltron it self…” Zarkon didn’t need to finish that sentence. It took a moment until his scope flashed green, Zarkon was locked on. Goodbye.

His father’s usually angered expression during the whole fight he’s been accounted on quickly morphed into horror. His father’s eyes widen and his sword was held in a looser grip, it’s tip scrapping the scratched ground.

The trigger seemed to by compelling his finger closer and harder, the scope still locked onto the man that put his kingdom and the peace of the universe to ruins.

“You’ve been killing us one by one” Was his father’s response. His breath hitched and the finger floating towards the trigger abruptly stopped, a hair length away from touching the trigger.

What? The prince shot up and stared at his father and Zarkon with his own eyes than looking through a scope. His father had the same expression he wore.

“You killed Blaytz?” Was his fathers answer, he almost missed it from the sound of blasters and explosions in the distance. His heart jumped to his throat, tears unwilling entering his line of view, making his vision blurry.

Before he or his father could comprehend how long Zarkon had been crazy for and how long they didn’t realise, Zarkon took advantage of Aflor’s guard lowering. So,

Zarkon did the killing blow.

A shrill cry echoed the ruined kingdom, it was filled with raw emotion. It took awhile to notice it was from him, the raw throat and the tears streaking down his face gave it away. His Bayard left discarded in front of him, in its original form, so he could hold his chest. Where his heart was.

Blue eyes watched his father crumble to his knees, and fall to the ground movingly, and-and, Zarkon didn’t have an ounce of regret or pain or horror, nothing. Emotionless to the death of his long time friend and teammate. The old Zarkon was gone, what is in his place was the emotionless husk of a caring man. 

A sob tore through his throat before he could stop it, his tears overflowing like a bathtub. It hurt. It felt like his heart was breaking. He’s lost Uncle Blaytz and now his own father, and he knows Trigel and Gyrgan are dead, they heard their final screams in the comms. 

Zarkon stood up from his attack form behind his father, his Bayard covered in blood, his fathers blood, his blood. With a snap, Zarkon was facing him. Horror and fear pooled through his veins, and his heart beaten faster, pounding on his rib cage.

With a shaky sob he stumbled onto shaky legs picking up his Bayard on the way. Blue orbs met wispy purple, quintessence. The man that he loved as an uncle did not show himself as he stared at the reptilian face of the ex-black paladin.

The image was somehow majestic. Both members of royalty facing each other off. Both blue and purple capes fluttering from the breeze of horror and destruction. 

“Alistair” His heart sped up by just his name being called. He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me, repeated in his head like a broken record. If his father couldn’t kill him, he doesn’t stand a chance. Zarkon was going to kill him, like he did to uncle Blaytz, and uncle Grygan and aunt Trigel, and his father. 

He’s not going to kill Zarkon. A lightbulb appeared above his head. He’ll get the next best thing. For the thousands of innocent lives.

The Black Bayard.

“You quiznaking traitor!” he yelled, activating his Bayard into it’s sleek, sniper rifle form, again. His free hand ready to detach his last pistol on his thigh in an instinct’s notice. The howling of winds were muffled by the rapid beating of his heart. Heat boiled the blood that flew in his veins. 

“You killed your friends- your family. Do you feel anything!? Grief!? Guilt!?”

Zarkon stared at him, his purple eyes unnerving him more and more. They were like pools of glowing purple wisps. The ex black paladin stood straighter, tenser. His guard never lowering.

“Those people are the people that stand in my way” Alistair stood silent. Barely noticing the hiccups and burning tears trailing down his mucked up face. Another wave of anger rippled through him, to the man he once considered an uncle, not a dictator or a murderer.

Alistair clenched his fist, if he wasn’t wearing gloves his nails would have punctured skin. “What is this for!? What are you planning to achieve!? With-with this!?” Alistair used his free hand to gesture to the burning kingdom, his kingdom. The one he was suppose to protect, guide, lead.“Bringing pain and suffering to others would do more harm than good. YOU should know that most of all!” Alistair panted, clear red masking his face, from anger or fatigue, he didn’t know. He didn’t care.

His blue keldioscope eyes narrowed at the Black Paladin. “It this what Honerva would have wanted! When she was still sane. What about Lotor. Your son, the child you have sworn to protect and father, might I add, properly!” His chest heaved after that last sentence, his mind flashing back to the young, slighty older, child, then to his aunt Honerva. The one that cared for other peoples wellbeing, not the crazy, insane woman she is now.

“You have done nothing” he spat. “You have done nothing for the wellbeing of your family, planet or Voltron” Alistair gripped his bayard tight with bother hands, the scope flickering back on. “You may be the Black Paladin of Voltron, but you were never truly deserved that role. You have become nothing, you are nothing. To me. To your friends. To the universe.”

With that, Alistair lifted his rifle with insane speed and shot at Zarkon with deadly accuracy. Blue plasma escaped the long barrel and headed towards Zarkon for the intended headshot. 

Zarkon deflected it with his bayard. 

Plasma spurs fourth from the black and neon blue blade like a supernova and faded from existence. The Black Paladin continued to stare at him, anger more immenient in his repetillian features.

Alistair watched as the bayard readjusted, his mind trying to find working escape routes. Without the working 3D navigation Trigel implemented into all of the paladins helmets, he would have to do it on his own.

“You are the fool” Zarkons voice carried through the battlefield, it was like he decided to swallow ten pounds of gravel. Alistair felt his inside squirm in discomfort and fear. His blue eyes watched the black bayard shift from the familiar idol position with its owner to the one in readying attack. He heard his instinct scream for him to get out, and get out now, to staying perfectly still as his enemy (once friend) walked towards him in even, graceful steps.

His blood boiled when Zarkon tredded over his fathers body. Not a grunt, nor a groan, just the pale body and the still puddle of crimson. Alistair felt his anger spike.  
“You could have anything. I could conquer worlds, have the power to do anything I wish. You could never feel inadequate to the majority of armies, you could have that power” 

Alistair continued to squirm uncomfortably, trying to figure out what Zarkon was going at. His sniper rifle continuing to be trained onto Zarkon’s figure, his finger trembling from above the trigger.

With a grunt, Alistair was taken from his perch to the back wall. His back aching with the jet pack being pushed into his form uncomfortably. The one thing he could never fight Zarkon was his speed, insane speed. He was fast himself but Zarkon was faster, much faster. The way he pushed his young, frailer body from the open view to the wall a few feet back in only a blink of an eye was frighteningly impressive.

He felt his arm twist, his bayard deactivated and facing away from Zarkon’s face, the tip of his sword under his throat, his apple bobbled. Resisting the urge to cough against the dust of the impact of his back to the wall.

His blue eyes focused into the purple mist of Zarkon, all of his hatred and anger pooled into the look, so much emotion also pooling into his blue scales, glowing the small area torquise between him and Zarkon.

“Join me,” Zarkon exclaimed. Alistair’s heart beated faster. “You could become one of the strongest rulers in existence. Have everything you could ever want. No one to stop you”  
Alistair gasped from under Zarkon’s bone crushing grip, the blue glow of his scales dimming and strengthening with conflicting emotions. Alistair could feel his pure white hair glow with his instinct to reach for his quintessence core.

His emotions filtering across his face his scales indictated that. He would never join Zarkon. He would never join a murderer. Never join a dictator.

Alistair’s loose fingers tightened on his deactivated bayard, he could feel his heartstrings tingle with Blue, a glowing sensation. An altean blue exploded from his bayard.

“I’LL NEVER JOIN YOU!”

He swug his bayard into Zarkon’s head. He yelled and stumbled away, his grip on his own black bayard loose. He hands protested against his monster grip on the thin staff of the bayard, yet he rallied against the pain. With all of his pain Alistair screamed in rage as he spun his weapon and slashed the sword of his lance at Zarkon’s face.

He didn’t block it.

Alistair put the tip of his lance under Zarkon’s throat, in the same position he was in seconds prior. The blue glow of the blade lit up Zarkon’s features, purple blood dripped onto the blue, sharp, impenetrable glass from the wound Alistair just created. Cut through his left side of his face, down his mouth and chin.

Now Alistair has the upper hand.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me; https://biggeek2351.tumblr.com 
> 
> Hopefully, I can see you soon!


End file.
